


Naw a deg

by RhysLahey



Category: Rugby RPF, Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Bath, Dinner Date, FYI: don't drink the water, Fluff, M/M, My own weird alternative universe, Six Nations 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23231545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhysLahey/pseuds/RhysLahey
Summary: George Ford walks out of Twickenham after the Wales game with more than a victory.
Relationships: Rhys Webb (rugby player)/George Ford
Comments: 11
Kudos: 15





	Naw a deg

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/gifts).



> TBF, I should be working, but this has been bugging me since the Day Rugby Died a couple of weeks ago. Also, enough of Faz - Rhys Webb deserves more attention and praise. 
> 
> And I suck at proof-reading, so I am teribly sorry in advance!

**_7 th March, 2020. Twickenham Stadium, London_ **

Six minutes to go ‘til the final whistle and suddenly England was two players down: Ellis Genge had been sinbinned and then, a few minutes later, Tuilagi was red-carded. Against a determined Wales, even with a seventeen point difference and six minutes was too tight for George Ford’s liking. Sadly, a fourteen-point Welsh come back in the last three minutes was not enough. After Tipuric’s try and Biggar’s conversion the game was over. Twickenham roared in applause as the final whistle blew.

George looked around with a big grin on his face, happy with the result. All the England players huddled together to celebrate before walking over to shake hands and pat shoulders of the Welsh boys.

“Well done today,” George said as he smiled and shook various hands. “Good game. Cheers, well done.”

After shaking Tipuric’s hand George thought he had finished, so he headed towards the rest of the England squad, but he stopped when, from behind his back, a voice called out for him.

“Hey! Don’t I get a handshake too?”

George did not recognise the voice immediately. Most of his teammates knew some of the Welsh players well, because a few of them played in English clubs, but George himself had never had a chance to befriend any of them. This explained why he had never expected Rhys Webb to come looking for him with so much intent.

“Oh, sorry,” the English player apologised. “Yeah, of course,” he added with a smile.

“That was close today, wasn’t it?” Rhys said with a million-watt smile and his sky-blue eyes, which suddenly made George’s insides go mushy and warm.

“Er… yeah…” George had only played against Webb a couple of times, and he could not believe that every single time he had the same stupid reaction. “Close… I mean… Close, yeah; _too_ close, I think,” he managed to reply with a smile which he hoped was not as giddy as he thought it was.

“Yeah, well,” Rhys closed his eyes as he shrugged gently. George could not stop staring at his smile. “Pity… I wish _we’d_ been closer though.”

“Uh, erm… huh?” was all what George managed to vocalise.

Rhys chuckled. With that and a wink, the Welshman went over to pat George’s shoulder, leaving his hand there for a fraction of a second longer than strictly necessary. George did not mind, though – he was just too busy looking at the other man’s eyes. Right then some other Welsh player (George did not see who) came to pull Rhys away, to George’s dismay.

“Well, then. Bye, George!” Rhys said, still beaming at him.

“Huh… bye!”

George blinked and Rhys was already walking away. Only then did he realise that the Welsh player had been shaking (or, rather, _holding_ ) his hand all through their short conversation. George looked with his mouth gaping open as the Welsh players gathered together and disappeared into the tunnel.

He was brought back to reality by Owen Farrell, who was shaking his shoulder and looking at him, clearly expecting an answer to a question George had not heard.

“Sorry, say again?”

“I _said_ , come over. We’re having a picture taken.”

George let his captain lead him to the rest of the team. He was saying something about Triple Crowns or something or other, but George’s mind was millions of miles away, trying to understand what had just happened.

***

“George, can you come here for a second, please?”

“Yeah, sure!”

They were all showered and ready for the evening’s celebration when Anthony Watson called George over. The Bath player led him out of the changing room to one of the many corridors that ran through the bowels of Twickenham.

“What is it?” George asked.

“Oh, nothing. Just a friend of mine that asked me for a favour,” the taller wing replied with a grin as they walked down the corridor.

“What friend?” George demanded to know, sensing the mischief in Watson’s tone.

But Watson did not have a chance to answer. Standing there and waiting for them was none other than Rhys Webb. _Again_. He was fidgeting with his hands, and his smile grew wider when he saw his Bath teammate with George close behind.

“Hey again,” Rhys said with a small wave.

“I- I- I… Hi,” George replied, not really sure of what was happening, but feeling his cheeks getting warm.

“I, erm…” Rhys explained, fixing his eyes on George’s, still wth his charming smile that made George’s knees weak. “Well, I asked Watson here if he would give me your phone number, but he said I had to ask you myself.

“My what?” George still did not understand and, to make things worse, it was his ears getting warm now as well. He looked up at Anthony, who had to supress a chuckle. He looked back at Rhys, who was looking uncharacteristically nervous.

“Give him your phone,” Anthony ordered, rolling his eyes.

George, completely lost, slowly pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it over to the Welsh player. Watson looked at George in disbelief and palmed his face, but Rhys quickly tapped something on the phone before returning it to its owner.

“Well, yeah, that was that,” Rhys said with a small smile. “Just in case you want to call me some other day.”

“Yeah, sure…” George felt now that the warmth had shifted to his stomach, and only managed to wave goodbye once Rhys disappeared back into his changing room.

“Ok, can you please tell me what’s going on?” Anthony asked.

“I don’t know…” George mumbled before looking down at his phone. “He just wrote ‘Rhys less-than-three’ and his phone number? Less-than- _three_? What’s that?”

“What do you—? Gimme _that_ ,” Anthony grabbed George’s phone and had a look. He then saw what Rhys had _actually_ written he grinned as he returned the phone. “You northern pillock… Come on George, let’s get back before everyone starts asking questions.”

“Hang on,” George demanded as his teammate walked ahead. “What’s that all about?” But Anthony was already far ahead.

George looked down at his screen, where the new contact read _Rhys <3_.

***

“Hello?” Rhys answered his phone.

“Er… Rhys? Hello, I’m George.”

Rhys’s face changed to a wide smile. When he gave George his phone number on Saturday after the game, he never imagined that he would actually call him. In the Wales changing room it had been apparently no secret that he had a crush on the English player. In fact, Leigh Halfpenny and Dan Biggar had been teasing him for _weeks_. So when he returned and announced that he had actually given him his number all of the players wooed him, making him blush bright pink.

“Hey, hello! How are you doing?”

“I’m alright…” George said from the other side of the line. “Bummed about our game being postponed, but it’s looking quite grim in Italy. Have you seen the news? This virus thing—”

“Do you want to come to Scotland?” Rhys interrupted George’s virus rant.

“Me go where?” George sounded confused.

“Yeah, well. I wanted to ask you if you’d show me around Bath, because I don’t know it very well…” Rhys said quickly. “But I could get you a ticket for the Scotland game this Saturday?” he added hopefully. “It would be nice to see you then…”

“Oh, I, erm… yeah? That would be cool…”

“Tidy!” Rhys added. “And what about if I take you out for dinner after the game?” he asked, crossing his fingers.

“You? I… us?... Er…”

Rhys wished he could see George at that moment, because he could tell that the Englishman had gone some hue of red. Probably beetroot.

“George?” Rhys asked after a few seconds of silence. _God, I think I broke George Ford…_ “You still there?”

“I, erm, yeah, sorry, yes, sure. Ha!” George replied quickly. Rhys heard the smile in the other man’s voice, and he had to stop himself from doing a little victory dance as a warm feeling flowed through his chest. “I mean, yes! But are you sure?”

“Ha! Course I am, butt. Can’t really wait!”

***

George’s phone rang, and when he saw the caller ID he got so excited he almost dropped it.

“Rhys?”

“Hey, George.”

“You ok?”

“Yeah, well… but you know our plans for Saturday, right?”

“Yeah?” George refused to admit that he had been counting the hours until the trip.

“I’m afraid I’m gonna have to change ‘um, butt.”

“Oh…” George suddenly deflated. “I see…”

George’s mind cursed his luck. It had been too good to be true. He was now thinking a hundred thoughts a second, ranging from self-doubt and ‘why would he actually _really_ want to take me out for dinner’ to more sombre thoughts related to the press, what-if’s, headlines, and the public’s attitude to a potential openly out professional rugby player.

“But I have _another_ plan!” Rhys added quickly when he noticed George’s sullen tone. “I’m not cancelling, don’t worry!”

“Oh?” George arched an eyebrow at the promise.

“Yeah, I mean. What about you come over to Bath and show me around?”

“Ah, well… I _can_ do that,” George admitted. “I mean, I’m not the best guide but I sure can. Didn’t any of the club people help you out with the move, though?”

“Yeah, well. They helped, they did” Rhys replied vaguely. “They told me where to look for houses and the grounds and such. But I though, you know, _you_ could show _me_ your favourite places?”

“Well, I haven’t lived in Bath for years now. I’m not sure I’ll be able to show much,” George admitted as he scratched the back of his neck. “Are you sure you don’t want to ask any of the current Bath boys? They’d know better…”

Rhys rolled his eyes, but he tried again.

“Yeah, I _could_ … But I don’t really want to take any of them out for dinner after a sightseeing walk,” Rhys added in his most suggestive and inviting tone.

“Ah…”

“In the same way that I’d really like to take someone else out for dinner….”

“ _Oh_ …”

“The penny dropped yet?” Rhys teased.

“Yes, sure” George couldn’t believe his luck. “Yeah, I mean… I’d love to!”

***

A couple of days later, George drove back to Bath. During the three hours it took him to get there, he forced himself to listen to the radio, knowing that otherwise he might start to over think, have a small panic attack, and drive back to Leicestershire. It was a shame that none of the stations played music for long enough, and whenever they had adds on he changed the station. Needless to say, he listened to every possible music combination during those three hours, but he did not care.

By the time he was conscious again of his own actions, he was already parking his car while an ever-smiling Rhys waited for him down the lane, hands in his pockets. As he walked towards the car, George took a deep breath to steady himself. He took a second one just in case and he got out of the car.

“Hey…” George said first.

“Hi! I’m so glad you came,” Rhys beamed at him as he cautiously put his hand on George’s elbow.

“I couldn’t really say no, could I?” George smiled nervously back, knowing that if he looked for too long into Rhys’s eyes he might start giggling nervously.

“Well, you _could_ have. But I’m very happy you decided to come over” Rhys could not hide his smile. “So… where first?”

They spent a few hours around the city centre, going into the abbey, walked to the Pulteney Bridge, took some pictures of the Royal Crescent, and visiting the Roman baths. Rhys even kneeled down to the point where the hot water sprang from the ground and _touched_ it, despite all the signs saying it was not allowed and the nervous glares of George, who begged him not to do it. Rhys nearly scalded his hand with his antics, but after that he and George could not stop giggling until they got out of the Roman remains. Of course, George later took his revenge and invited the Welsh player to try the water from the spring up in the café. Rhys bravely asked for a glass, regretting it immediately after the first gulp, to George’s great amusement.

They spent their afternoon talking about this and that: about the coronavirus, about what would happen to the tournament, about Rhys’s life in Toulon, and about what George thought of his return to Leicester. Rhys knew they could spend the whole day discussing rugby, but that was not what he wanted; that would not get him any closer to knowing George better. He did not care that much though, because he was spending the day with him anyways. They walked closely side by side, their shoulders unnecessarily brushing, but both of their hands remained firmly in their pockets. Rhys spent most of his time looking at George, enjoying how he made him blush every time their eyes briefly met. George spent most of his time wishing that his day out in Bath were longer.

Eventually George took them to one of his old favourite pubs where they sat for dinner. A number of people recognised them, and a few came over to ask for pictures, although neither of them minded and they were used to it. When George returned from the bar with their drinks, Rhys took his chance and, as casually as he could, he asked George to tell him more about himself. George was taken slightly aback, but he quickly recovered and, with a smile, told Rhys to ask him whatever he wanted to know.

Rhys asked many different things. It was clear that he really had an interest in him, and George could not believe his luck. The oddest thing was that he could not explain why it felt so easy to talk about his life, his thoughts and his feelings to someone that he had barely known until that day. But there he was, telling all his embarrassing childhood stories and his adult worries to the man who melted him whenever he smiled. By the time they ordered the stodgiest pudding on the menu, it was Rhys’s turn to tell all about his life, his concerns, his dreams, and even his ex-boyfriend.

George nearly spat out his food when Rhys mentioned this; even if it was clear by then that they both liked each other, that entire topic had felt like a taboo. It was certainly not something that two professional players were meant to be discussing out in public. But Rhys told George that he was tired and he did not care any more. Most of the Welsh squad knew about him anyways, and barring Toby’s reluctant silence, everything had been words of encouragement.

“You don’t have to tell me any more if you don’t want to,” George said, seeing that Rhys was now staring at his plate and fiddling with his spoon. “And I know it’s a cliché to say this, but I think you’re very brave.”

“Not brave enough though. I mean, there’s Alfie and there’s Nige, but me? I don’t think I’m _that_ ready yet… I don’t know?”

Rhys looked up to look at George, who was for once looking intently at him. He had to fight an urge to bring his hands forward and hold George’s in them.

“Are you in a hurry?” George asked.

“Not really…”

“Then that’s it,” the Englishman said with finality. “All that matters is that you’re okay.”

“How about you?” Rhys asked innocently.

“I… I don’t know,” George admitted and he slouched a bit. “I think most of the lads in Leicester know, right? But they haven’t said a thing.”

“If they know… do they treat you any different?”

“Not really, no…” George conceded.

“Then I guess they won’t mind,” Rhys said before he ate his last spoonful of bread and butter pudding. “And if you’re not ready to tell them, then you’re not ready and that’s it.”

George looked at the man sitting opposite him, eyeing him carefully. Not that this advice was new to him, but it felt different coming from him. Both players looked at each other with mirroring smiles for a few seconds, until Rhys winked and pulled a cheeky grin, the same he had given George in Twickenham. George felt his cheeks flushing and Rhys, counting that as a victory, chuckled.

Later that evening, Rhys walked George back to his car. They had been delaying this inevitable moment for as long as they could, both looking for any feeble excuse that would allow them to remain sat at the pub for a few more minutes, or justifying taking a longer route back to the car park because it was more scenic. But eventually they got to George’s car.

“Well, that was a great day out,” George said as he put his hands in his pockets.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Rhys added casually as he leaned against the car. “Thank you so much for showing me around. Now I know not to drink that disgusting water ever again.”

“You should have kept your dirty mitts out of that spring!”

Both of them laughed for a while remembering their visit to the baths, until they went unnaturally quiet, both looking hopefully at each other.

“I think I should get going,” George announced as he pulled his car keys out.

“Aww, mate… do you have to?”

“I really should.”

“Don’t you want to stay for a tad longer?” Rhys begged with his best puppy dog eyes, and George chuckled and shook his head.

“It’s getting late, Rhys,” the English player mumbled as he discovered that his shoelaces were the most interesting thing to look at that moment.

“What if… I mean, would you like to stay over for the night?” Rhys asked hopefully. “There’s a spare room!” he quickly added, panicking when George did not answer. “There’s a spare room! I left it all ready. I mean, I was _hoping_ you’d stay, but you don’t have to…”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. A million percent,” Rhys grinned.

“It won’t be a problem?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Will you cook breakfast?”

“That can be arranged.”

George paused for a second, as if pondering the offer. He then pulled a mischievous smile while Rhys bit his lip and waited for his date’s answer.

“Fine. I’ll stay. On one condition,” George warned, still smirking and interrupting Rhys’s fist pump.

“Yeah, sure, sure. Of course. What is it?” the Welshman froze.

George purposefully paused for a second or two, relishing how, for the first time that day, he was not the one embarrassingly petrified.

“What is that less-than-three thing you wrote on my phone by your name?”

Rhys stood there, still frozen. When he saw that George was for real and not taking the piss, he chuckled and shook his head. George still looked at him with a side smile and a furrowed brow, demanding an answer. A big smile formed on Rhys’s face, who this time could not stop himself as he closed the gap between him and George, _finally_ bringing him into a hug. George was startled for a second, but then he returned the cuddle, resting his head on the taller man’s shoulder.

“I guess you’ll eventually find out.”

**Author's Note:**

> And that was my one attempt at Rugby RPF slash ff! I would like to think it was not absolute tripe, but I think I'll stick to my werewolves anyways.
> 
> PS1: it’s insane the amount of things they let you do in Bath when they know you’re an archaeologist  
> PS2: The water from the spring is rank  
> PS3: Naw a deg is ‘nine and ten’ in Welsh


End file.
